True Intent
A Nate Shepherd Novel
Michael Stagg
Contents
LEAVES
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
BRANCH
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
TRUNK
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
ROOTS
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
SEEDS
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
EPILOGUE
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Also by Michael Stagg
True Intent
A Nate Shepherd Novel
Copyright @2020 Michael Stagg
All rights reserved
All characters in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to an actual person, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
For more information about Michael Stagg and his other books, go to michaelstagg.com
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LEAVES
1
When I met Liselle Vila at the wedding reception, I had no idea that she was going kill her date right there on the dance floor. I could even see the alleged murder weapon, but I didn't realize that’s what I was looking at and, to be honest, I wasn't looking that closely.
Other people were apparently a lot more discerning than me, or maybe just less discreet, because they testified later that it was obvious what she was doing. It seemed to me that most of them were just taking credit for perception after the fact and that, if they had really seen it coming, they would've stopped it. But they didn't.
I had already left the reception so I didn’t see it happen. Instead, I had to piece it together later through the eyes of dozens of witnesses who each perceived the events through very different lenses, like witnesses always do. Though people disagreed about how it happened, they did agree on two things.
Liselle Vila had a weapon. And they saw it kill Richard Phillips.
2
The Branson-Phillips wedding was the biggest event the city of Carrefour had seen in more than a decade. I was invited because the bride, Ellie Branson, was the little sister of one of my best friends, Matt.
Ellie was marrying Jake Phillips, a young man from St. Louis whose family had descended upon Carrefour, if the rumors were true, in not one but two private jets. The wedding was quite the affair—a cathedral, a trolley, pictures at every scenic area within a twenty mile radius, and, because no venue was quite right, the absolute biggest, tallest, most elaborate tent you'd ever seen, complete with a hardwood floor, four bars, and a stage for a band that had opened for Ed Sheeran and the Foo Fighters.
I was sitting at a table with Zach Stephenson and his wife, Mandy, who were also two old friends. The mother of the bride had been kind enough to rearrange things and seat me with them after I’d realized that I really didn’t have a plus one.
Zach picked up the placard with the menu and whispered out of the side of his mouth, “What the hell is truffle oil?”
“Something you season food with when you decide you have too much money,” said Mandy.
I chuckled. “You guys want a drink?”
Mandy twirled her near-empty glass. “Pinot?”
“You got it. Zach?”
“Think they have Jack here?”
I smiled. “I think you're gonna have to make do with Johnny Walker Blue or some Irish nonsense.”
“Fine.”
“Mind him,” I said to Mandy.
“Always,” she said with the air of someone mentioning a full-time job.
I excused myself and headed up to the closest bar. There were only a few people in line and I hadn't been waiting more than a second before a couple came tumbling up behind me. The man was tall and trim, with perfectly cut black hair that had a sprinkling of gray. He wore a tailored black suit that was cut slimmer than was usual for a man his age, which was probably explained by the woman leaning into him and whispering in his ear.
She wore a black sleeveless dress that shimmered just a little and contrasted sharply with blond hair that was so pale it was almost white. She wore extraordinarily high heels that let her whisper in the man’s ear without him ducking his head. The man smiled at whatever she said and then held out his hand to me. “So, do you know my nephew or his new wife?”
I shook it. “Grew up with the bride’s brother. Nate Shepherd.”
“Richard Phillips. Groom’s uncle.”
I smiled. “So part of the St. Louis contingent. Trip okay?”
“Fine, fine,” he said. “We got a later start than we wanted but we were able to actually land here. I thought we were going to have to go to Detroit.”
“I told you,” said the woman, smiling.
“You did. That'll teach me to listen to you.”
“It should. It should also teach you to introduce me.” She smiled as she said it and it was clear she wasn’t offended in the least.
“Of course.” Richard flashed a smile, more for her than me, and said, “Nate, this is Liselle.”
“Hi, Nate,” she said and her smile remained playful. When her smile got bigger, I realized I hadn't said anything.
Rather than get offended, Richard chuckled.
“Hi, Liselle,” I said. Brilliant recovery. “Are you from St. Louis too?”
“A small town just south,” said Liselle.
“She’s with the Forest Service,” said Richard.
“That's great work,” I said.
“For very little money,” said Richard. “I'm trying to talk her into coming over to the dark side.”
“Which is where?” I said.
“Our company,” he said and he paused as if I would know what he was talking about.
I didn’t. “What company is that?”
Richard raised an eyebrow. “Really?”
Liselle smiled and leaned on his arm. “We're not in St. Louis, Richard.”
“No, I suppose we’re not,” said Richard. “The Doprava Company.”
An earlier conversation with Matt came back to me. Ellie was marrying into a family that owned a multi-billion-dollar multi-national company that did multitudinous things. Uncle Richard ran the whole thing. “I'm sorry,” I said. “I should’ve remembered.”
Richard waved it off. “How about you?”
“Lawyer. Here in town.”
“Sir?” came the bartender’s voice over my shoulder.
It was my turn. I ordered and a Pinot, a Johnny Walker Blue, an
d a Miller Lite appeared by magic. I balanced three drinks in two hands and said, “Great to meet you both.”
“You too, Nate,’ said Richard. “I'm sure we'll see you around.”
Liselle smiled at me and said something to the bartender that was lost in the rising tide of music.
As I brought the drinks back to Zach and Mandy, Zach said, “Who in the name of God's green gravy was that?”
“Who?”
Zach pointed.
“Richard Phillips and Liselle…I don’t know her last name.”
“Jesus,” he said, still looking.
Mandy stared at Zach. “She is half his age, Zachary.”
“Come on now, darling,” said Zach, smirking. “Not everyone can be as lucky as you, finding the man of her dreams in high school. Some people have to keep looking.”
“Right, that's exactly what I am,” said Mandy. “So lucky.”
Zach pressed his lips against Mandy’s cheek and she scowled and then she smiled and then she kissed him on the lips and then she punched him in the arm.
The weddings went as weddings do. There was a dinner and there was a toast and I'd have to say that the maid of honor’s was just a little bit better than the best man's but both of them were funny with just a drop of poignancy at the end. A cake was cut, a garter was tossed, and after all of those preliminaries, Ellie Branson, now Ellie Phillips, danced with her father. And after Ellie danced with her father, the wedding party danced with each other, and the rest of the guests were invited to join in. The band—who it must again be mentioned had toured with Ed Sheeran and the Foo Fighters and did not normally do weddings but was there only out of an abiding love and respect for the Phillips family and a check the size of three concerts—began to cut loose, and soon most of the guests were on the hardwood dance floor, spinning under the high-ceilinged tent in the flickering faux candlelight. Later, I decided that the flash of pale blonde I saw spinning by must have been Liselle and Richard, but at the time, all I really noticed was the bride and the groom and their parents and a mass of dancers that I thought of as the private jet contingent.
I sipped a beer and spoke to Zach and Mandy, but eventually she prevailed on Zach to get out there with her and it was just me and the other single person at the table, a woman in her thirties who the mother of the bride had placed on the opposite side of the table so that she wasn't being too obvious.
It had reached the point where it would be rude not to talk to her, so I moved and took a seat next to her and we talked about how I knew Matt and how she knew Ellie and how we actually had quite a few friends in common. It turned out that she was an accountant from Kalamazoo and she was very pleasant and I was very nice and after about twenty minutes, we both reached the conclusion that we had spoken long enough to appease Matt and Ellie when they asked us later what we thought of each other. I offered to get her a drink, she said she was still working on hers, and so I excused myself and went back to the bar.
Matt Branson was waiting for me when I got there. As a member of the wedding party, he'd been wearing a tux but the jacket was now gone and his tie was loose as he gave me a big hug.
“Shep!” he said, drawing it out. The wedding party trolley had been stocked with booze, as was proper. “Having fun?”
“You bet. Family holding up?”
“Much better. Nerves had them like jellyfish on a cactus yesterday but the pressure’s off now.”
The band stopped playing and announced that all of the married couples should come to the dance floor so they could do the dance where they kept reciting the number of years that people had been married until the couple who’d been together the longest was the last one on the floor.
Matt shot me a glance. I smiled and said, “You’d better find Beth.”
“Got that right.” He finished his drink. “Don’t leave without saying good-bye.”
“I won’t.”
He nodded and went to find his wife.
I almost left then but I decided to wait until after I saw that Mr. and Mrs. Rooker had been married sixty-four years—two years longer than the runner-up. After that, I caught up with Mr. and Mrs. Branson, who hugged me happily, and Ellie and Jake, who thanked me for sharing their special day, and Zach and Matt, who called me a candy-ass of the highest order for leaving before the tequila. I agreed and headed home around ten-thirty.
I was asleep two hours later.
My phone buzzed at three thirty-nine. That’s in the morning. I answered.
“Shep?” came a voice.
I hadn't had much to drink but three thirty-nine is three thirty-nine. “Yeah?”
“It's Matt, Branson. I need you to come back here.”
“It was a great party, Matty, but I'm cooked.”
“No, not to the reception. To the hospital.”
I sat up. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine. It's Jake’s Uncle Richard. He's dead. We could use your help.”
I got out of bed. “I'll be right there.”
3
I found Matt Branson in the ER waiting room sitting by a stained, white coffeemaker. The room wasn't too crowded and consisted of exactly what you’d expect in the middle of a weekend night: a few stitches from a party mishap, a minor car accident, and a young couple hunched worriedly over a baby. On the far side of the room, opposite Matt, sat a woman in a shimmering black dress with pale blonde hair. Her hands were folded in her lap, her ankles were crossed, and she was looking down.
Matt came straight over. “I'm sorry, Shep. Thanks for coming. I didn't know who else to call to help us work through this.”
“Work through what?”
“Did you meet Jake’s Uncle Richard?”
The woman sitting across the waiting room helped me make the connection from Uncle Richard to Richard Phillips. “Briefly.”
“He collapsed at the end of the night. His brother is the groom's father, Steve. He brought Richard’s kids over and I brought Liselle.”
It took me another moment to remember that was the blond woman’s name. Then what Matt said struck me. “They didn't come together?”
“Small car. And it didn't seem like a good idea.”
“How many kids?”
“Two. Bre and Andrew.”
“Where are they now?”
“In back. Saying goodbye.”
“You’re sure he’s passed?”
Matt nodded. “The doctor told us about half an hour ago. That's when I called.”
We didn't get any farther as two men in tuxedo jackets and a woman in a knee-length peach dress came down the hallway. The men were tall and looked alike except that one had salt-and-pepper hair and the other’s was dark brown. They were on either side of the woman, who looked to be in her mid-twenties and was leaning hard on the older man, crying.
As soon as they entered the waiting room, the younger man walked toward the far corner. Toward Liselle.
“Come on,” said Matt and went over there. I followed.
Before we reached them, the older man grabbed the younger man's arm. “Not now, Andrew,” the older man said.
“She fucking killed him, Uncle Steve,” Andrew said. “You saw it!” The young woman cried harder.
“Calm down, Andrew,” Stephen Phillips said.
“Fuck that. She fucking killed my Dad!”
Liselle didn't move. Her hands remained folded in her lap, her ankles remained crossed, and she just looked down, unflinching.
Matt positioned himself between Andrew and Liselle. Andrew tried to push through Matt. That wasn’t going to happen so Andrew bent his head around Matt and said, “Are you fucking happy? Did you get what you wanted, you fucking bitch? My dad is fucking dead.”
At Andrew’s words, the woman on Stephen Phillips’ arm collapsed into him. The sick baby on the other side of the waiting room began to cry.
Stephen Phillips glanced that way then said, “This isn't the time, Andrew.”
The young man’s eyes went wild. “So when is the t
ime, Uncle Steve? My dad's already dead so just when is the right fucking time?”
“Andrew!” Stephen Phillips said. “Outside!”
Andrew didn't seem inclined to listen so Matt took him by the arm, carefully, and led him out. Matt was whispering so I couldn’t hear what he said, but whatever it was seemed to work and Andrew let himself be guided out of the waiting room.
Liselle sat there, still.
Stephen Phillips caught my eye. “Nate, right?” he said.
We’d met a few times over the course of the weekend. I nodded.
“Matt said you would know who to talk to before we can take him home?”
I nodded again.
“We would like it to be as soon as possible.”
“Of course. I'll talk to the coroner and let you know.”
“Thank you. Matt has my number.” Stephen Phillips started to lead the young woman away when Liselle said, “I'd like to see him.”
Stephen Phillips froze. The young woman raised her head from her uncle’s shoulder, focused her bloodshot eyes on Liselle, and said, “Don't you fucking dare.”
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